


come back home

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barnum makes up with his fam and becomes a better person, Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-03 03:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13332360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: P.T. Barnum’s Progressive Journey to Not Being Such An Awful Person, in Five Easy Steps.Or, Barnum has a lot of growing to do, and a lot to realize. Step One: lose everything. He’ll figure it out from there.





	1. Step One: Lose Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I would never use a movie lyric for a title but here we are
> 
> Also, this is my first TGS multichapter!! I’m super excited, and I really hope to explore a lot of Barnum’s character in here. This piece will be a combination of a few different requests, and won’t focus on any particular pairing - just Barnum’s redemption arc.

The train ride home is long and lonely. Phineas couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

It’s storming when he leaves Cincinnati, a perfect reflection of his low spirits. He slips silently into the train compartment, sliding out of his damp coat. Running a hand through his hair gets some of the water out, but a chill has still settled in his bones and seems disinclined to leave.

That chill was there before the rain. It was injected into him by Jenny Lind’s piercing eyes, her furious words, that kiss laced with venom. Ever since she lashed out, his veins have been filled with ice.

Phineas slumps against the window and turns to stare outside. Raindrops streak the hazy glass. Looking at them, he sees the tears rolling down Jenny’s porcelain cheeks all over again. Bile rises in his throat, and he swallows it back down.

 _Careless,_ she called him. The word has not stopped ringing in his head ever since. A careless man who toys with other people. He’s been called a lot of things by a lot of people in his lifetime, and most of it has slid away like water off a duck’s back; but Jenny’s words cut to the quick. He’s gotten to know her quite well during this tour _(too_ well, in retrospect; or _not well enough_ to realize what she was capable of). Jenny Lind never says anything she doesn’t mean.

_“When you’re careless with other people, Mr. Barnum, you bring ruin upon yourself.”_

He is a careless man, then. He must be. How ignorant could he have been to allow things to go this far? To leave his wife, his children, the empire he built, and risk it all on tour with a stranger? To idolize Jenny as a performer first (an attraction) and a human being second?

Yes, perhaps he is careless.

There’s a sour feeling in his stomach, and an emptiness that hollows out his chest. The memory of Jenny’s pain filled eyes haunt him. As the train chugs away from the station, Phineas closes his eyes and prays he’ll dream of home.

He isn’t that lucky. Instead he dreams of the circus elephants, the ones who perform every night in the show. He’s become a master at dancing around their feet. However, in his dream, he tries to move and finds himself tethered to the ground. His body feels as if it’s growing numb; he is being paralyzed all at once. There is no way to move out of the path of the approaching stampede. When he looks down, his legs are two veiny tree trunks, rooting him to the ground. No matter how he tugs, he cannot move out of the way, and the crushing feet are getting closer and closer.

He lifts his head again, and the stampede is upon him.

He does not jerk awake with a cry or groan. Instead, he opens his eyes with the slightest shudder, and blinks at his lonely surroundings. There is no one else in the train car: no elephants bearing down on him, no Jenny with her icy eyes, no Charity glowing like an angel. He is alone with his regrets.

He stares out the window for the rest of the ride.

When the train pulls into the station, he feels somehow even more exhausted than when he set off. The trip took more hours than he could count; he rose once, only to stretch his legs and use the bathroom, before returning to his compartment again. He stands up as the train draws to a stop, and nearly falls right back down again. His legs are numb.

He manages to stretch out the cricks in his spine, rubbing at his knees to restore their circulation. By the time he steps out of the station into the chilly New York night, he almost feels like a human being again.

“Daddy!”

Phineas drops his luggage and spreads his arms wide. He can not help laughing at the sight of his family rushing towards him. His girls; his _home._ At once, a sense of normalcy floods back, and he smiles broadly for the first time that day.

Charity reaches him first, almost leaping into his arms. The children are a second behind her.

“Girls, girls — oh, you’ve grown so much, stop it!” He exclaims, kissing both of their eager heads. When he turns to Charity, he kisses her too: a kiss that never wants to know another, one desperate for the embrace of familiar lips. For a moment, he wishes he never had to let her go.

But the girls are behind them, and the world ahead, so he breaks apart after a few seconds. Charity’s eyes are alight, but there’s a wariness in them. She knows Phineas too well by now.

“What made you decide to come back early?” she asks.

There are a million things to say (a million explanations, a million excuses, a million apologies). He is only able to find three words: “I missed you.”

Charity laughs. “That sounds an awful lot like humbug.”

He is about to open his mouth to deny it when the clanging of bells drowns everything else out. He looks up to see a parade of fire trucks rush past, shrieking and wailing an emergency to the world. “Fire!” a foghorn voice declares, and something icy locks around Phineas’s ribcage. “Hurry! It’s coming from the circus!”

In that moment, time ceases to function. He sees the world around him slow down and speed up. A chorus of voices ring in his ears: Jenny’s warning, Lettie’s exclamation as the door is slammed in her face, Charity’s laughter, Phillip’s pleas. Faces swim through his mind in a dizzying blur. The horse of elephants bear down upon his head.

It’s coming from the circus. _His_ circus.

_You bring ruin upon yourself._

There is no way to outpace the trucks. They can only follow them to, he prays, absolution.

He tucks his family under his arms, and they run.

* * *

By the time they arrive, it is far too late.

His circus is already consumed by the blaze. Flames spew out the windows, licking the walls and doorways. Barnum’s chateau is falling, and Phineas’s horror at losing his livelihood is matched only by the fear that there may still be people trapped inside.

Then he sees them running. Phillip, with Lettie in his arms, W.D, O’Malley, the Irish Giant, all looking on in horror as their home is consumed by the fire.

He doesn’t hesitate before leaping into their fray. He is almost mad with the shock of it; he cannot keep himself from grasping Phillip by the shoulders, forcing an answer out of the overwrought apprentice. “Phillip, Phillip, is everyone out? Is everyone okay?”

Phillip is still scrambling to assure that himself. He manages a distracted nod. Phineas’s attention immediately turns to the animals.

“I set them free, what else could I do?” exclaims O’Malley.

Some unhinged panic in Phineas’s roaring mind quiets for just a second at the thought that _no one is hurt._ Then Phillip’s frantic shout rings out.

“W.D., where’s Anne?”

That sets off a chorus of panic. W.D.’s terror is plain on his face. He stands up straight, ready to bolt, and Phineas instinctively turns to stop him. That’s when Phillip takes off.

There is no way to catch him before he rushes headlong into the flames. Nor is there time to be horrified, because a second later Phineas’s arms are full of a furiously struggling W.D. Wheeler. The thought of losing his sister has set the young man frantic with fear. It takes two more men to restrain him. The need to _do something, for the love of god,_ is one that Phineas shares, but he’s too occupied holding W.D. back to watch for Phillip’s emergence from the blaze.

The crowd around them is in such chaos that Phineas almost doesn’t hear the shriek. He turns just in time to spot Anne sprinting towards them. “Here she is!” he exclaims, and W.D. finally breaks away. A second later Anne is in her brother’s arms, being hauled away from the blaze.

Now Phineas can only think of one person: Phillip.

The doorway is a wall of fire. No sign of life stirs within. No one emerges. If Phillip is still in there (and Phineas knows he is, because he would never leave without Anne) he must be choking on flames at this point. Going in there is an almost sure death sentence.

Even through the turmoil, Caroline’s tiny voice still cuts through his consciousness like a bell. “Daddy!”

He spins around. There is his family, watching him. Charity’s eyes are wide, as if she knows already what he’s going to do; her arms are wrapped around their two children. Caroline and Helen gaze at the flames in horror, not yet realizing the true magnitude of the tragedy. Phillip, who has become their brother; Phillip, who is so integral to the circus; Phillip, the opposite of careless, twice the man Phineas has ever been; Phillip is caught in the flames.

Phineas savors one last look at his family, and takes off.

He strips his coat off as he runs, and tosses it over his head. Rushing into the flames is like stepping into a broiling oven. Immediate panic seizes him, the certainty that he is burning himself alive; but he forces it down. He needs to save Phillip.

He finds him collapsed in the middle of the ring, motionless. A beam apparently came down on top of him. When Phineas shouts out, he does not stir.

There is no time to consider, no time to panic at the flames lashing him, or the earth-shattering rumble above his head. Phineas scoops Phillip’s limp body into his arms and runs.

He hears the world collapse at his heels.

Emerging back into open air does not feel like it should be possible. He is stumbling as he makes it out the doorway, but his legs continue to propel him on. He coughs as he all but drops Phillip to the pavement. There is no time to worry about himself; his attention is focused on his friend’s limp body. Phillip’s face is burned and singed, but his chest rises in shallow breaths.

“He’s taken a lot of smoke, but he’s still breathing!” Phineas exclaims. He helps the emergency workers load Phillip onto a stretcher. As soon as he stands again, Charity is in his arms. He coughs up lungfuls of ash, clutching her tight, and they gaze up at the burning carcass of his empire.

Cinders dance against the black sky. The sight is almost beautiful, for all its atrocity. For a moment, the world seems quiet. Phineas can only keep his eyes open and watch as all that he has built goes down in flame. 

* * *

The next day dawns dull and grim.

He picks his way through the smouldering rubble with that same emptiness filling him up. He has lost something he is not sure he can replace; he tries to convince himself otherwise, but he knows there will be no returning to the circus he left behind. Barnum’s Museum is dead. So, too, are other less tangible things.

His performers are without a home now. Phineas has no office, no place of business. Hell, if Phillip doesn’t pull through, he might not even have an apprentice.

He still tells himself it isn’t the end of everything.

Until he sees the newspaper.

Phineas makes it back to the house (the mansion he dreamed about, their castle in the sky) just in time to find Charity’s lonely figure descending the staircase.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says.

His first instinct is to protest, scrambling for explanations he would not have the energy to find, were he not desperate. Charity spits the words back in his face.

“She orchestrated the photo, I’m not in love with her!”

Charity rounds on him. She looks incredulous; almost ready to laugh. Phineas feels as if his heart is being dragged out of his chest.

“Of course you’re not,” she says. “Not with her, not with me, not with anyone. Just you and your show.”

For a moment, he is speechless. He knows what he is hearing, what he is seeing, but there’s no way to make sense of it all. He cannot comprehend it. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home,” she retorts, and more long-buried, venomous predictions bubble to the surface of Phineas’s memory. He never thought he‘d see the day Charity’s old father would be proved right.

He cannot believe it when Charity hands him the foreclosure notice. Bitterness burns in her eyes; he has never seen her this furious, this hurting. He can hardly remember to breathe.

“Why didn’t you _ask_ me before —“ She chokes, voice swelling with suppressed despair and rage. “I would have said yes. I never minded the risk, but we always did it together.”

She holds his eyes for one moment. He cannot meet her gaze; after a second, he looks away. Charity turns on her heel and marches out the door without looking back.

The door slams shut, and he is cast in darkness. He is alone.

It is like a cheap candle flame sputtering and dying; a stained glass window shattering into fragments; a knockoff Monet painting wearing away to dust. Phineas can only gape in horror as the last vestiges of his perfectly-constructed life fade away. He reached the top of the world, and fell of the edge. Now he is left alone, with nowhere to find his footing as he falls.

 _Oh,_ he thinks, recalling Jenny’s words. _So this is what she meant_.

The sweet smell of Charity’s perfume lingers in the air like a ghost. He reaches out for a moment as if to grasp it. Then his hand falls away.

He can’t lose her. He _needs_ her.

(He needs so many things. He needs his family, the circus, Phillip. He needs his children’s smiles every morning, the intoxicating rush of performing alongside true marvels, the gasps and shrieks from a delighted audience. He needs Charity’s soft hands. He needs someone, _anyone.)_

He needs a goddamn drink.


	2. Step Two: Have An Epiphany In Your Favorite Bar

Silence seems to be the order of the day, because even the bar is deserted. Phineas has to pour his own drink. He takes the strongest liquor he can find down from the shelf, fills himself up, and tosses it back in a single gulp. Then he pours another.

It’s funny — he is usually the last person to drown his sorrows in alcohol. He’s never been a fan of it, always able to see different ways to get by. If a person is ingenuitive enough, determined enough, they should have no need to drench their sorrows in liquor. He has never been the way Phillip was when he met him, clinging to the bottle just to feel anything at all.

Now Phineas feels far too much. All he wishes is to drown it out.

He sits at the bar with his bottle and glass, staring at the wall. For a long time, he manages not to think of much else other than the burn of alcohol down his throat. (He maybe cries a bit, but fights the urge to drown himself in those silent tears.) Shadows seem to stretch longer in the empty bar. He stares at the wall, chin in his hands, and tries to suppress the sadistic reel of memories that run through his head.

Flashes of his circus on fire, Jenny’s tear-streaked face, Charity walking away from him. He sees Lettie, smoke-singed and sobbing as her home burns. He watches Phillip be carried into an ambulance, and feels the lick of flames at his heels all over again.

Phineas wonders if this is the torture he has deserved all along. Then again, there are much worse punishments for a sinner to endure.

When the door creaks open, he doesn’t look. It must be the bartender, he figures, who won’t be happy to find someone having helped themself to his stock. He turns his head only upon hearing the familiar clap of light footsteps against the ground.

As Tom hoists himself up onto the bar, Phineas lifts the glass again. He drains it before the other man can get to his feet. By the time Tom is striding across the bartop towards him, Phineas is already pouring more.

“Figured you’d end up here,” Tom says, looking down on him. “Feeling sorry for yourself.”

The contempt in his voice makes it clear that he’s seen the paper. Of course,  _ everyone  _ has — they’re all over the city. Phineas’s disgrace, plastered around as entertainment for the masses. (Isn’t that just fitting?)

He can barely bring himself to look at Tom — but the echo of more people entering the bar makes it clear that he doesn’t have to. Of course the circus troupe would seek this place out. The bar has always welcomed them; they’ve celebrated here after shows many nights. It is one of the few places the “freaks” all feel comfortable. Most of the times they congregate here, the rest of the bar’s patrons clear out, and the tavern quickly becomes dominated by the Barnum Circus.

Now that their home is destroyed, they  _ would  _ seek out one of the only places they all have left to go — and the man who created a place for them at all.

Phineas doesn’t want them here. He doesn’t want them all seeing him at his lowest point. He can’t bear their judgement, the shame of knowing he’s disappointed even more people who counted on him. (The worst part is that many of the freaks don’t have anywhere else to go. There is no Europe they can run back to, no father to embrace them with victorious arms. All they had was the circus, and now that’s gone.)

The door shuts. He can feel dozens of stares boring into him, like individual blades piercing his flesh. The alcohol flowing through his bloodstream does nothing to lessen their weight (the sad thing about growing up on the railroads was that Phineas learned how to hold his liquor, a bit  _ too _ well). He feels the responsibility bearing down on his shoulders, and he’s got nothing to show for it.

All he can do is sigh. “Folks, if you’ve come to get paid, the money’s gone. All of it.” There is nothing he can give them, nothing he can do.

“We saw the paper,” Lettie says. Phineas turns just enough to look at her. By some small mercy, she hasn’t brought a copy with her, but the disappointment in her eyes is shameful enough. “What on earth were you doing, Barnum?”

“I —“ He looks away from her, down at the countertop, and sighs. He doesn’t know what he was doing. He doesn’t know.

“That was the only time,” he mutters. “She kissed me goodbye. I never should have… I should have been more careful. Should have paid more attention.”

“Should have been less of a jackass,” Tom contributes. When all eyes turn to him, he shrugs. “What? Nobody here’s gonna act like you didn’t do wrong. You did. You did us wrong, and even worse to your wife.”

“Mrs. Barnum‘s a good woman,” adds Prince Constantine. “She doesn’t deserve to be hurt this way.”

“I know,” Phineas mutters. “I  _ know _ that.”

“Then why did you leave her?”

“Better question: why did you leave all of us?” W.D. isn’t one to speak up often, but he clearly feels this needs to be said. “This could all have been avoided if you’d just stuck with the circus.”

Sticking to what works -- the safe,  _ practical  _ thing. No man ever grows to greater heights that way, though, and no one would be fool enough to call P.T. Barnum practical. Phineas could never stomach the thought of settling, of remaining stagnant and contenting himself with what he already had. Back when he still had anything, he could only reach higher and higher. (Now, he has nothing at all; just for a foothold to cling to to would be a small mercy.)

“I wronged you all,” he says, shoulders slumping. He wishes he could feel the alcohol more strongly, wishes his body -- like all the rest of him — wasn’t so stubborn. “I was…  _ careless _ . There’s nothing I can do to make up for that. I can’t pay you. The circus is gone, there’s no money left. All I can say —“

“Shut up, Barnum,” Lettie says, cutting him off at the head. His words die in his throat, and he turns to look at her with open surprise on his face. Lettie no longer shrinks at having all the attention on her, the way she would have just a few years ago. Now she takes a step forward. She looks frustrated by his lifeless apologies, furious and saddened all at once. “You just don’t get it. Our own mothers were ashamed of us. Hid us our whole lives. Then you pulled us out of the shadows, and now  _ you’re _ giving up on us too.”

Her words sting like brands against his skin. He swallows past the taste of brandy and disappointment coating his mouth, tries to find anything to say. There is nothing.

“Maybe you are a fraud,” Lettie continues. “Maybe it was all just about making a buck.”

Phineas hangs his head.

“But you gave us a real family.”

His eyebrows shoot up. Of all the words he’d expected to hear, these weren’t any of them. He blinks down at the bartop in bemusement, wondering when the guillotine blade is going to descend.

“And the circus was our home,” adds W.D. from his other side. “We want our home back.”

He is surrounded, disgraced, and desolate. Phineas has nothing left; these people, these men and women who’ve given up all they had for him — they have every right to tear him to pieces. 

Yet for some reason, they do not. 

Are they showing him mercy? Are they  _ thanking _ him even now, after everything he’s done? After all he’s managed to ruin through his own blindness?

How can they forgive him after everything?

He stares at the mostly-empty bottle. The dying sunlight casts its rays from the window, beaming through the amber glass. Brilliant reflections dance against the wooden countertop, as beautiful as anything he’s ever had in his circus, yet infinitely purer. Simple. Real.

He’s felt the sun fade away, and bee left freezing in its absence. There is no more show, no more elaborate displays of color and light… but still, Phineas isn’t alone. He hasn’t been left to be consumed by his own despair.

This family — the family he brought together without even realizing — has come back for him. They have returned to pull him from the rubble of his own ruin. Standing on the remains, all he can see are the friends standing at his side.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Phineas says, slow and quiet. “The things I’ve done have hurt you in ways I didn’t want to see. I’ve hurt all of you. And yet… you’re all are standing here now. I can  _ see _ ... what I’ve been missing for a very long time.”

He looks up at Tom. Tom -- Phineas’s oldest performer, his friend, the bold man who never feared to raise his voice — smiles back at him.

Phineas squares his jaw and pulls himself to his feet. He does not stumble, doesn’t even sway. He knows exactly where he’s going.

His beeline takes him straight through the heart of this makeshift “family”. He passes the faces he’s grown to know over the past months, the friends he’s come to make. Their gazes lingering on him no longer feel like condemnation, but support. They hold him up.

“I have been places I never imagined I’d go,” he says, scanning past pictures of himself posing with the queen, with reporters and congressmen. “I reached heights that I’d previously never imagined were possible — or even wanted. Our success turned me into someone else.”

His gaze lingers on Jenny’s photo for just a moment, before he rips himself turn away.

“It consumed me. As time passed, I just had to rush ahead faster and faster, and I lost sight of where I started.”

He lifts a single picture off the wall, and his eyes turn loving as he gazes at it. That day rings as clear in his mind as if it were yesterday; the girls’ excited chatter, and Charity’s beaming smile as she braced herself against him. The warmth he felt that day has been absent for a long time now.

And oh, how he has  _ missed  _ it.

“Now that I see you here,” he says (and knows in his heart that he is not only talking about the performers), “I remember who I did it all for in the first place.”

When he spins back to them, there is a smile on his face. “No more blindness!” he declares, sweeping his way through the crowd. He tucks one arm around Lettie‘s shoulders, gesturing with the other for Tom to get the drinks flowing “No more forgetting! No more waiting!”  _ No more carelessness. _

The liquor begins to flow. Phineas clinks mugs with Lettie before toasting to the crowd. A great cheer rises up as he declares, “My friends, I swear to you from the bottom of my heart: I will never again lose sight of what is important!”

The rest of the afternoon dissolved into a fury of celebration. The performers sing and dance as if they have nothing left to lose — and they don’t. They can only rebuild from here. They will find their home again, and by god, Phineas is going to help them do it.

There can be no more watching his life slip through his fingers as if he is helpless to stop it. There can be no more being complacent. When in his life has he ever been a complacent man? When has he ever accepted defeat when it spit in his face? If he’d done that, he never would have earned Charity’s love. He never would have built the family he did. He never would have stood in the spotlight. Phineas Taylor Barnum has never laid down and allowed the world to crush him.

The only thing left to do is change. There is no other way; he needs to be a better man. He will not lose the wife and children he loves more than anything in the world. He will  _ not  _ lose the family who has stood by his side, even in his darkest hour. They all believe in him; he must work to be even half the man they deserve.

He drinks with his family, cheers them on, dances with them. Before he knows it, the hours have slipped away, and there is only one place left for him to be.

“Lettie,” he says, eyes stuck on the picture hanging against the far wall. “I need to go.”

When he turns to her, Lettie’s eyes are warm and knowing. She gives him a resolute smile. “Go get her, Barnum.”

He sweeps in and gives her a kiss on her stubbles cheek before throwing on his coat and hat, leaving the revelers behind him.

* * *

He finds Charity on the beach, casting a lonely silhouette against the setting sun. Her blue scarf flutters out behind her; her eyes remain cast up, reaching towards the sky. He approaches her without fear, though inside he is trembling.

This is the same beach where they sat as children and whispered their dreams in hushed voices. Now they are back, and those same dreams lie in fragments around them.

The only way they can rebuild is if they do it together.

He hesitates for a long moment before speaking. It is more important now than ever that he finds the right words; there can be no silver-tongued flare to them. They must come from the heart. Somehow, this is the hardest thing Phineas has ever had to say.

“I brought hardship on you and our family,” he finally tells her. “You warned me and I wouldn’t listen. I just —“ He cuts himself off. Pain and regret twists inside his chest. “I wanted to be more than I was.”

Charity looks at him sideways, so close and yet so far away at the same time. “I never wanted anything but the man I fell in love with.”

Finally, the tears come, and they choke him. He can barely manage to keep his voice clear, though it trembles as he beseeches her. He cannot touch her, so he locks onto her eyes instead, and holds on tight. “I promise I will change. From the core of my soul, I will be the man you deserve. And the two of us, we…”

“We'll do it together,” Charity echoes herself from years ago, the whisper of a smile on her face.

Phineas nods, tears slipping down his face. “From now on.”

It is a vow, a start. He has made a thousand promises in his lifetime, but none have ever felt so real. In all his efforts to elevate himself, he never truly wanted to improve — not until now.

The feeling of Charity in his arms grounds him. Her lips against his take him home.

It will be a long upward climb, but he will get there. He’ll make things up to them — to all of them.  _ Everyone. _

Phineas can not afford to lose sight of the things that truly matter ever again.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who paid for all the alcohol tho
> 
> like. barnum is broke. phillip is only technically alive. do the other performers have any money?? was there just a mad hungover scramble to pool all their funds together the next morning?? what did the bartender say when he came back and found them there??? what does barnum's tab at this bar LOOK like anyway holy shit


	3. Step Three: Rebuild

Becoming a better person is much harder than it looks.

This probably shouldn’t surprise Phineas as much as it does. He always knew that being a good person was more effort than not — more than it was worth, sometimes. He has always considered himself many things: an ambitious man, intelligent, determined, passionate, innovative. He has never thought himself a particularly good man.

He’s never been above exaggerating or stretching the truth. He certainly wouldn’t call himself honest. He turns facts on their head to suit his ambitions; conning banks and customers is a way to get ahead. Phineas always felt that he was destined to be a great man, but a _good_ one? Not likely.

(Sometimes he looks at all the magic in his life — the circus, his amazing wife, his sparkling daughters — and marvels that it is somehow his. He has felt, on more than one occasion, that he is living the life of a better man. It’s amazing that someone like him has an uncanny knack for creating truly good things.)

Being a person that his family can be proud of is an uphill battle. He can’t change his nature; he’s never destined to be a saint, that’s for sure.

But a role model his girls can look up to? Well, he might just be able to manage that.

He starts with a loan, and a long-overdue partnership.

* * *

Rebuilding the circus takes time, energy, and much more luck than Phillip Carlyle is used to putting his stake in. Thankfully, Phineas wouldn’t have gotten close to the heights he’s reached today we’re he not able to trust in his own fortune (and, when situations warranted, manipulate it). He charges headlong into the real estate business, convinced that everything will work out alright.

He’s not wrong, either. Finding land down at the docks is as easy as he thought it would be. They’re able to purchase a large plot of land, not directly on the seafront, but close enough that the ocean breeze still reaches them. There’s enough open land to set up a whole community of tents and trailers. Phineas stands back, surveying his new canvas, and sees the future spread out before him. The vision dances before his eyes, more tangible than any mirage. He can see the big top towering high, illuminated by light as performing silhouettes dance within. He hears the roar of the crowd, sees their feet pound against the grassy expanse as they rush to the ring. _Barnum’s Circus,_ back and better than ever.

“It’s perfect,” he declares.

Phillip isn’t half as starry-eyed. “It’s muddy,” he retorts, squelching the ground beneath his shoe for emphasis. “And it needs to be cleaned up before we can even begin setting up. Where are we going to begin? Do -- do we even _have_ tents?”

Phineas waves him off. “I’ll get the tents, don’t you worry.” Settling his hands on his hips, he grins. “Phillip, this is the dawn of a new day.”

Staring out at the same plain as Phineas, Phillip takes a large breath. “Let’s hope the sun manages to come up.”

Phineas isn’t worried. Worrying, as he’s come to realize, is a more merciless shackle than could be found in any prison.

Not worrying is the only way you can get ahead in life — and Phineas’s plans don’t include slowing down.

* * *

Off all people, Charity winds up responsible for getting the docks into working order. She’s been more than busy the past week — since the circus was left with nowhere to go, she insisted that they all come stay in the Barnums’ massive mansion, and Phineas was by no means fool enough to argue. The past few days at the Barnum estate has been chaos. Over thirty performers crammed in one place makes even their house seem cramped. Charity and the girls seem to be thriving, but Phineas finds the atmosphere suffocating. He makes it a point to get out of the house — just to avoid the food fights Chang and Eng start in the dining room, or the sound of Tom snoring from his place on the couch. The troupe stays up, singing and laughing well into the night. This gives Phineas the perfect excuse to throw himself into his work.

He’s so busy acquiring all the things they’ll need to get set up that he doesn’t even realize the other part of his job is being done for him. Phillip talked to Charity, who talked to the rest of the troupe. When Phineas arrives at the docs a few days later, he finds the entire circus already there, flattening the grass and cleaning the place up.

Charity conducts it all like a maestro. She wanders through the groups of workers, encouraging and advising them in equal time. She helps Anne and Lettie haul away old lumber, tracks down a wheelbarrow for W.D., and listens intently as the Lord of Leeds explains the best ways to dry out the ground, to make the mud more manageable.

When she spots Phineas gaping from a distance, she runs up to him. Her corn silk hair is pulled in a loose bun. Filth stains her dress, and her hands are scraped and bruised from all the hard work. Phineas can’t remember the last time he saw such a wide smile on her face.

“You didn’t have to do this,” is the first thing out of his mouth. Charity’s grin widens.

“Of course I didn’t. We’re all here because we want to be.” She brushes off her hands on her skirt. “If this is where the new circus will be, it’s important to get it in working condition.”

She’s right, of course. Phineas shakes his head in wonder at how much the group has accomplished in just a day. At this rate, they’ll be ready to set up by the end of the week. “You never cease to amaze me.”

Charity plucks the tophat from Phineas’s grip and placing it on his head. That familiar mischievous gleam dances in her eyes, and a part of Phineas falls in love with her all over again. “You better remember that,” she replies, before turning back to the work. She doesn’t hesitate to pick up right where she left off, helping the albino twins sweep up trash.

Phineas shakes his head in amazement, before following after her. After all, there’s work to be done.

* * *

Once the circus comes back to life, things get easier.

Resurrecting the legendary show is no small feat, but the troupe works around the clock. As soon as the big top is set up, rehearsal begins. The dancers organize their routines, the animals train alongside the performers, and Phineas is kept busy making sure everything’s working.

For his part, Phillip is doing everything he can. He’s slower than he was before the fire; he’s still recovering, and bears the burdens to show it. Every so often he’s subject to coughing fits that leave him doubled over, gasping. There is a small scar on his forehead that Phineas doubts will ever fade. Nonetheless, Phillip bears these reminders of the past with dignity. He doesn’t let them hold him back.

Phillip is the one who oversees the set-up of the tent; from the ring and stands, to the trapeze high above the crowd’s head. He takes special interest in the trapeze; it would be a catastrophe if anything were to happen to their two marvelous acrobats in the air. Phineas catches him consulting with Anne over the renovations one afternoon — _“Is this low enough? Will it be stable? Should I have it set up closer to the ground, or will this be safe?”_ — and hides a smile. His business partner is anything but subtle.

In all the chaos of getting set up, there’s little time for much else. Phineas goes out of his way to make sure his performers are settling into their own quarters alright. Almost everyone has a tent or trailer on the property. Some double up like the twins or the Wheeler siblings, while others — notably O’Malley, Chang, and Eng — insist they need their own space. It’s alright; there’s room for everyone. As soon as the circus is out of his house, Phineas starts spending every spare moment he isn’t working at home with his family.

Returning to them always feels like stepping out of purgatory into heaven; but he can’t shake the feeling like it’s not enough. He’s not giving enough to them, nor to the circus. He needs to do more, give more… (though he often wonders how much of himself is _left_ to give.)

He still has to leave early every morning, but he pushes the time back to nine o’clock. This at least gives him the chance to make dinner for the early risers (Charity and Caroline), then say goodbye. One morning, as he cups a sleeping Helen’s head and presses a kiss to her brow, he feels a twinge in his chest. It’s something close to illness, but miles away; it’s even worse. He cannot explain what drives the incomprehensible urge to curl up next to his daughter and _stay_ with his family. Work needs him; the show needs him. _(Right?)_

Sometimes though, he thinks his family needs him most of all.

Perhaps this was something he was blind to _before_. His ambition might be his greatest flaw, but obliviousness is a close second. He cannot imagine the Jenny Lind-era Phineas contemplating staying home from work all day just to play with his family.

He likes to imagine the change is a good one.

He kisses Helen’s head one last time before pulling himself away. Just until they get the new show off the ground. Until there’s money coming in. Until they’ve been restored to their former glory.

Then he swears, he’ll figure out how to spend more time with his family.

* * *

Training with Phillip feels less like practice and more like putting on a show.

There is no question that the younger man has a showman’s flair. Phillip is pure energy in the ring. He flaunts, he twirls, he dances (and Phineas tries not to dwell on how his partner’s younger body can move just a bit smoother than his own). Phillip runs through the ring as if it’s more than a job. It’s what he wants to be doing.

He’s clearly in his element. Phineas knows that, however flawed his Jenny Lind tour may have been, it was at least good for Phillip. His confidence has increased. He no longer wears the ringmaster’s lapels like a child in his father’s clothing. He’s grown into them, and moves through the ring with grace and surety.

All Phineas wants is to increase his stage presence, just a bit. A ringmaster has to have complete control over the ring. He needs to be able to command all the audience's attention, and direct is as needed. Phillip’s got the charisma; he just needs to work on his presence.

Phineas lets Phillip take over rehearsals for a week. He watches from the sidelines, observing how easily Phillip takes control. He directs the performers, giving them little tips and tricks. When some dancers want his opinion on their new routine, he stops and watches them work through it. He even ventures to do a daring aerial trick with W.D. and Anne, where the acrobats grab him under the arms and lift him from one side of the ring to the other. When the circus runs through their opening number, Phillip is at the  center of it all.

By the time they bring rehearsal to a close, there isn’t a soul in the ring who isn’t sweating. Exhaustion is visible on even the heartiest performer, but they’re all glowing with pride. They know that they’re a part of something magical.

(From the sidelines, Phineas feels a twinge in his chest, just like the one he felt cradling Helen.)

“Alright,” Phillip declares, clapping his hands once. “That’s enough for today. Fantastic job, everyone!”

Relieved, the performers begin to file out of the ring. Phillip remains, calling out encouragement and tips to each member of the troupe as they file past him. When Crystal and Roberta stop him with questions about their dancing routine, he converses intently with them for five minutes. The girls wander away, looking satisfied.

Only then does Phillip have time to join Phineas. He makes his way to the sidelines, where his fellow ringmaster is waiting, glass of water at the ready. Phillip takes it gratefully, wiping sweat from his brow as he thumps down on the bleachers next to Phineas. He might not be doing backflips or leaping through rings of fire, but playing ringmaster is tiring work.

As Phillip sips his water, Phineas studies his protégée with a deceptively mild look. “You know,” he says, “there’s something about your performance that makes it seem perfectly natural  for you to be in the middle of that ring. I don’t know how you manage it.” He chuckles, smoothing down his hair. “If I did, I might even be jealous.”

Phillip turns to him then, with an utter lack of guile on his face. Phineas is struck by recognition. That flash of _knowing_ in his eyes is lighter than it was a year ago, but it’s the same expression Phillip wore when he declared he was “selling virtue”.

“Barnum, all I do is move. The real magic comes from the people working around me. As long as they do their jobs, mine is to make sure they stand out. My role as a ringmaster is to let everybody else shine.”

Phineas blinks at him. That’s humbug if he ever heard it; it goes against everything a ringmaster ought to be. Phillip seems genuinely sincere, though, and there’s no denying he does his job well. If that’s his trick, and it _works_ …

“Huh.” Phineas leans forward, placing his hand in his palm. “There’s a method to your madness, then.”

Phillip smirks over the rim of his glass. “I have to be mad. I ran off and joined the circus, didn’t I?”

* * *

 He chews on Phillip’s words for the next few weeks.

After going up in flames, the infamy of Barnum’s Circus has only increased. The resurrection of the show has brought the entire city flocking to the docs, eager to witness the infamous spectacle all over again. Will it be the same as it was? Even better?

Their first show is surrounded by a packed audience. The spotlight hits him, and Phineas’s heart soars. This is the moment he’s been waiting for. This is where he’s longed to be, even before the fire, during the month of tour with Jenny. He’s been called to the spotlight. He belongs here.

The show is every bit as magical as he remembers. It’s all it was and more; the troupe is rejoicing at finding their home once more, and channel every bit of that emotion into their performance. Everyone soars higher, shines brighter, and in the middle of it all is Phineas.

Only when the crowd is on its feet and roaring does he realize: he’s shining the brightest of them all.

“They come to see you,” Phillip once said. He didn’t give much thought to the words at the time, but now he can’t ignore how they ring true. Back in the spotlight for the first time in what feels like forever, he realizes he is the epicenter. The audience’s attention is focused on him. It is _Barnum’s_ Circus, and he is the king.

Phillip’s style is completely different. While he’s in the ring, he lets everyone else shine. Phineas dominates the attention and controls it, pulling it all towards him, like the planet in the middle of a constellation. Phillip is gravity, while Phineas is the earth itself.

Phillip just might be… a better ringmaster than he is.

The thought leaves Phineas feeling a little lightheaded, and a little thrilled. He grins broadly at the crowd, waves, and takes his bow a second before the rest of the cast.

* * *

He kisses his wife when he gets home.

He’s been trying to kiss Charity a lot more, to make up for all the days he was absent and couldn’t. Charity tolerates this with the same grace and amusement that she employs with everything he does. She enjoys it, at least; that much Phineas is sure of.

Once the circus is off the ground, making Charity happy is going to be his top priority.

For now, he just holds her close, one hand on her waist and the other bracing against the stair banister to steady them both. Charity laughs into his mouth and kisses him back, arms coming up to twine around his neck.

“I’m a self-centered man,” Phineas says when they pull apart.

Charity blinks at him. “You were just kissing me, and you lead into that.” She doesn’t needs to confirm his statement.

“I have been a self-centered man my entire life,” he mutters, “and it hasn’t been fair. To you, or anyone.”

He kisses her again. She leans into him and sighs against his lips.

“Do you think I didn’t know that when I married you, Phin? You’re a good man. That’s what counts the most.” Her lips caress the corner of Phineas’s mouth; they are as gentle as her warm eyes. He stares at her for a second, close enough to drink in every inch of her, then shakes his head.

“You deserve better,” he tells her. “I can’t be a different man, but I can be better.”

Charity cups the back of his head. Her smile plays across her lips like a promise kept and remembered. “As long as you don’t leave behind anything you’ll regret,” she tells him. “If anyone can change himself, I believe it would be you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, maybe it's just me, but in the opening of A Million Dreams, everytime charity says "i don't know what my future will be" and phin says "i do," i always think, _ohh, he's talking about her, that's so sweet, he believes in her --_
> 
> then. nope. he's talking about his OWN future. which like it's a great song and great establishing character moment, and charity doesn't seem to MIND, but it's not all about you phin bby.


End file.
